


Not Like My Lady Mother

by saffronsykes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU- Queen in the North, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Cold Weather, F/M, Family Dynamics, Femdom, First Time, Mild S&M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Older Sansa, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Past Underage, Possessive Behavior, Queen Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saffronsykes/pseuds/saffronsykes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is Queen in the North!  Petyr Bealish is her Hand.  Something has been bothering Queen Sansa and she is determined to find out what haunts her right hand man.  She gets a lot more than she bargained for, but some surprises are not so unpleasant.  They find solace in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Like My Lady Mother

Sansa Stark, the Stark in Winterfell, drifted along a corridor in the new capitol of the North. She was Lady Stark, Warden of the North. She was widowed, it had been part of the plan, her husband had been an old and feeble Northman, long holding the banner of her Father, she had no children with him. Her house slippers padded the stones of the castle down to her Hands room, Petyr Baelish. He had been a mystery at first, when she was still a scared girl dreaming of a prince to save her. He had taught her the skills she needed to enable her climb into politics and reclaim the North, he gave her the tools to forge her own path home, he even won her the support of the Lords of the Vale and eventually the North. For everything he had done for Sansa Petyr had still been in love with her mother. Sansa could not shake the feeling she had replaced his idol with her since her unfortunate and painful death. Sansa was grateful for his aid, but she would not be his Catelyn. She was a Stark, the last Stark. Although Petyr had a special place by her side and in her heart, her Mothers shadow always lingered, in the reforged castle and as a pahntom of her allies past.  
Queen Sansa had to find out what had transpired between her mother and Petyr Baelish. She was determined to find out what he was hiding from her, Petyrss leave of absence had made her investigation possible.  
Snow fell lightly at the leaded windowpane as Sansa lit a candle. His chambers were comfortable, he was treated well. She provided him with all she could, without him she would have never had the means to regain her kingdom. She owed him luxury, at least. She knew exactly where to look for the item she sought, behind an Eastern Lovemaking book, which still managed to make her blush like a child at the lewd and primal ink sketches. There she found a compartment to Petyrs private papers and journals. She moved to his desk and opened the soft leather journal, which has years of ware upon its spine.  
Late hours passed and silent snowflakes drifted lazily to the frostbitten earth. She wept as she finished the entries from his childhood at Riverrun. She knew her mother could be cruel, she had seen it in her treatment of Jon Snow. This paper confession made her heart ache for Petyr. How could a her very own mother be such a stranger, malicious and self serving? Lady Catelyn Tully had been a stable figure in Sansas childhood doting, motherly and warm. Perhaps it was the fact she had been the mother to her two younger siblings, since their mother passed giving birth to Edmure. Perhaps Catelyn was overwhelmed by the responsibilities thrust upon her. She used Petyr. At first stringing him along, seeing him do her more mundane and undesirable chores. She reward him with her favor and hope and light touches and tender sentiment. Little Petyr was merely a boy when she took his innocence for her own lust. Her passion soon turned to frustration and anger, she would torment and tease the poor man as they grew together, binding him to her will with promises and false hope. If there was any affection between the two, Sansa knew that her mother, even as a young woman, knew better than to promise her hand to anyone less than a Lord. The fact was that Catelyn had been cruel and manipulative for the entire time she spent with Littlefinger. Sansa wept for hi, for her mothers missing presence and deception, and the revelation she had sought for so long.  
Petyr let his boots click along the floors of the castle. Despite Sansa being the Lady of the Castle, it was his clever reserves of wealth that had it built, and so he had managed to name it - Petyrsburg - a comfortable sounding name with just enough bravado to put people off their guard. Hew as heading back to his room after completing his simple errand, ready to catch up on paperwork and maybe get some light reading in. He knew that being adviser so trusted to the Queen of the North, as well as harvesting the money from Harrenhal was about as high as he could climb on the scale, and what better place to rest than on his fierce Queens bosom: Sansa Stark, who frightened him as much as she attracted him. He frowned slightly; it was best to put those thoughts off for... nighttime. He unlatched his door, stifling a yawn as he walked in.  
As the door creaked open, Sansa gasped and dropped the journal. She turned in her chair to face the surprising return.  
"Lord Baelish," she stuttered. "Excuse my intrusion." She stood up in her sleeping gown and robe shoulders blanketed in furs. "I though you would be gone for at least a day more." She stood, proud and straight, even though she had just been caught. Sansa had matured into her rightful noble role. Unshed tears still stung her eyes. She looked at him with grey orbs pitying and at the same time admiring the man in front of her. He had come so far, but for who?  
Littlefinger stopped dead in his tracks, surprise showing on his face for a moment - it was not often he had been intruded on in such a private manner in such a way, and by someone who frightened and stimulated him so much. He forced himself to ignore his personal affect Sansa dropped to the desk, the thought of her reading those was too much to bear.  
"Yes, I see you did think so." he rallied from his shock. "Would you prefer I give you more time alone with my innermost secrets?" He realized she was probably as shocked as he was, and he did not want to be even more vulnerable than he was. He noticed her tears in her round, beautiful eyes, and took a step forwards. "You're crying... Are the childhood reminisces of your Petyr truly that moving?"  
Sansa looked stern, as she stepped towards him. "You never told me." She looked angry, sad, and confused. "Petyr." She raised a gentle hand to cup his cheek. "After all she did, you still helped me." She stated disbelievingly. Her hand moved to his shoulder. "I do not understand, nor could I help mine tormentors kin. You are a brave, forgiving man." Petyr willed himself not to take a step back, almost shivering as she touched him with her warm hand, the contact initiated by her sending his head spinning. She turned her back to him to look at the falling snow at the window. "Was it me? Was I your goal? Is that why you did it?" She looked over her shoulder, demanding an answer from the older man.  
He parted his lips, and then closed them again, tugging at his chin, before eventually breaking her gaze to look down. "I ask myself that question sometimes, Your Grace..." he glanced back up at her, struck by the similarities, and her differences, to the Lady Catelyn that tortured and ridiculed him so as a child. He fought back a flush, remembering the details he wrote in his book.  
Sansa turned on him. "Perhaps not at first, but it has been me for a long time." She thought back to her time in the Eeyrie, he still treated her like a Lady there, under the guise of his bastard daughter Alyane Stone. The realization brought a blush to her cold cheeks. "Tell me if I am being delusional, because if I am I must sound like a fool." The tears were more anger now, and the heat of them made her face feel less numb.  
Petyr joined her at the window raising his hand now to brush the tears from her hot cheeks. "Yes, Sansa..." he could barely believe that he was admitting it. "When I saw you in King's Landing, how you held yourself, how that brute Joffrey abused you..." he exhaled slowly, letting the anger fade out. "I knew I had to help build a great house for you."  
Sansas anger flared and she raised her hand to slap his lying face. She was strong, like her mother, a taste he remembered, feared, and relished. After the initial crack she choked a sob and pressed her eyes shut and her lips to his. Petyrs arms wrapped around her, pulling her close into the kiss, feeling her soft, young body against him, feeling himself grow hard, grow hot. He shivered when she broke the kiss."You stupid, perverted, manipulative man." Her frustration had peaked. Her face was still but a breath away from Petyrs tears streaming from closed eyes.  
"It was for you, Sansa. It was all for you."  
Sansa did not know what to think. This man had murdered in her name, lied, cheated: did she want that on her conscience? She stood still in his arms as she contemplated her next action. This man did not deserve what fate had deemed him, and what her mother had done was unspeakable. Sansas mind milled with morality and family, what she knew of love and duty. "Petyr I dont want to think anymore." She admitted meeting his gaze pleadingly.  
Petyr slipped his hand down, lacing his fingers with hers and giving it a light squeeze. "I can think for you, my Lady of Stark." he gently smiled. "It would be my pleasure to serve you." he kept himself as calm as he could despite his racing heart - he had never been kissed by her, it had always been the other way.  
She searched his eyes for lies or deceit, but she was to emotionally exhausted. Her arms wrapped around him and brought her lips to his again. The acceptance made a weight lift off her shoulders, but in the back of her mind she could not help but think Petyr was clinging to memories of her mother.  
Petyr kissed her back, hard, pulling her to him, eyes closed tightly as he felt her body, her warmth, her strength, her fragility. Having this happen so suddenly, all at once, even he was having trouble coping, but with Sansa in front of him, kissing him, he just could not form a coherent thought.  
The Queen guided him to his bed by lightly pushing him backwards and awkwardly with the robes and furs falling around them she mounted him looking down upon him trying to squash out any regret, any sign of hesitation in his features. Petyr stumbled back, laying down and shivering as she mounted him, her warm weight on him making him stifle a moan in surprised pleasure. She fingered his face, no signs from the Old Gods that this was wrong. She sat searching until she sat back enough to feel his erection and she blushed but did not look away, searching the depths of his expression for any hint at all.  
He looked up at her, gaze steady even as the position they were in awoke a lust in him he thought he quenched years ago, his chest heaved. When she rested on his manhood he sucked a breath in through his teeth, feeling her warmth against him, eyes clouding with lust. "S-Sansa..."  
"No more lies. No more hiding. If we do this, you are mine, all of you." She said quite seriously. "Your slippery mind, your aging body, and your broken soul. I will do everything to correct what hurts grieve you." She lowered herself to kiss him once again, gently and genuinely. She looked at him again, fiercly as a direwolf: "I am not my Lady Mother."  
Petyr nodded, quickly. "Yes Sansa, in body, spirit, and duty. I have loved you since I kissed you as we built castles in the snow at your Aunts castle. I knew then, who you were what you would be, and I kindled that little red flame among the white chill of the high moon. I protected you, brought you back home and crowned you Queen of the North. I have always been yours. " he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, as he finished his confession, willing his hips to remain still against the shifting of her weight. "I forever will be."  
Sansa nodded with a sniffle and a smile she placed a light kiss on his brow, silently thanking him. Shedding her robe and shift, left her breasts bare to the coldness of the room. They were freckled and dark nipples perked in excitement and chilly air. Her auburn hair fell around her shoulders as she pushed up Petyrs tunic examining his chest with her hands following closely with her mouth. She looked up at him while flicking one of his nipple with her tongue testing his reaction, which was met with a hearty groan.  
Petyr was not to proud to allow himself to bask in the beauty of his Queens body: so pale, so perfect. He felt himself throb against her as she stripped him.  
A smile curled on her rosy lips and she kissed him again. In a few swift movement she had them both fully naked in a pile of their clothing. She rubbed her wet cunt along the length of Petyrs shaft making herself moan and finally slowly sinking herself onto his aching erection. She was not shy with her moan of pleasure, her head tipped back as eyes fluttered shut and she started to moved back and forth on him fluidly.  
Petyr groaned in unison those few rubs of her slick womanhood driving him mad. He bucked his hips, grinding up into her as his eyes closed, the feel of her on him so sweet and so soft, forcing moan after moan from his lips.  
After she had collected herself through the intimacy and passion and gazed down at Petyr, her mouth slightly opened in another moan. "Look at me Petyr." She commanded eyes settling on his face. "Do not be scared of me," she took one of his hands and placed it on her hip and the other on her breast. "Love me, like you have always wanted to."  
Petyr forced open his eyes, looking at the face he imagined during every orgasm, moaning again as he felt her on him, pinching her nipple, rocking her back and forth on his cock as he thrust up into her, tugging her nipple slightly to bring her down on top of him.  
Sansa indulged his wish and folded to lay chest to chest with her lover her hips still grinding and her cunt hot a wet. She let out a whimper as the angle changed and he hit her in a different spot. "Oh Petyr. Harder, please."  
He obeyed and thrust up harder, arching his back, digging his nails into her smooth, pale flesh as he did so, kissing and softly biting her neck in ecstasy, wanting to go deeper, deeper into her.  
Sansa had been reduced to gasps and grunts her pussy pulsing in anticipation of an orgasm. She arched up suddenly calling out into the stone room her cunt clenched around Petyrs cock pulling it further into her which only exaggerated her pleasure. "Petyr...' she mumbled melting into his frame snuggling his slender chest.  
Petyr gasped - the pleasure of her cunt and her beautiful form and the culmination of all his fantasies and the feeling of it contracting around him was too much. He arched his back as he thrusted a final time. "S-Sansa!" he gasped, coming as she gripped him, her cunt dominating his cock even unconsciously, before he collapsed, with her on him, her organ milking his in after shock.  
Sansas final waves of orgasm washed over her and she laid panting on top of Petyr, her back freezing. She reluctantly pulled her robe back over her shoulders rolling off to her Hands side, covering him up with her furs. She lay watching him, hand entwined in his.  
Petyr kept her hand around his, arm around her to keep her close, furs over them both, keeping them huddled together, naked, as he caught his breath, and they both fell into a restful sleep.


End file.
